


Torn between wanting and needing

by crazynadine



Series: domino effect [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Feels, Boys Kissing, M/M, Reunion Sex, Reunions, Semi-Public Sex, Sex in a Car, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-06 23:02:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14658048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazynadine/pseuds/crazynadine
Summary: Prompt: Are there any fanfics filling the time gap between the docks and the van in 7x10? I just finished watching the episode, and though I already knew everything about it, I really wish we knew what happened. They fucked all night, obviously.





	Torn between wanting and needing

**Author's Note:**

> so, someone asked me to write this forever ago, and i'm just now getting around to it. there is a fair amount of sex, which is pretty par for the course in my fics. but it feels right, cuz they just missed each other so fucking much, y'know? 
> 
> this can be read as a stand-alone fic, but i put it in the series cuz it fits perfectly between part I and II so why the hell not, right?
> 
> *itty bitty warning* just a smidge of transphobic? ideas/language. it's not malicious, it's more based on lack of knowledge/confusion.

Ian leans up against a covered boat, checking his burner phone for what has to be the millionth time. 

He has no fucking idea what he's even doing here. He knows he shouldn't be here. He promised Fiona he wouldn't get involved. He promised Trevor, his god damn boyfriend, that he was not going to let himself get pulled back into the chaos of Mickey Milkovich. He promised himself that he was done. Fucking done. 

His life has changed since Mickey went in. HE has changed. He's worked really hard to turn his life around. He's not that fucked up, confused, unmedicated kid he was back when Mickey was in his life. 

Not that he blames Mickey for the shit that he went through back then. It may have taken Ian years to break down Mickey's walls, but once he did, the other man was nothing but loving and supportive. 

But he was still a criminal, and he still did reckless things. Like poison people. So, once he got locked up, Ian told himself it was for the best. Mickey was a loose cannon. A live wire. And Ian couldn't have that in his new, stable, medicated life. 

Ian needed routine. He needed predictable. He needed normal. 

Mickey was none of those things. 

It didn't hurt that he was sent away for fifteen years. It was easier for Ian to pretend he didn't care when the constant reminder was out of sight. He never stopped thinking about Mickey, but he did stop talking about him. He stopped going to places that reminded him of Mickey. He tried to never, ever think of what life was like for Mickey in prison. That shit hurt too much. Was Mickey okay? Did anyone visit him? Was he safe? Was he fucking someone in there? Did he miss Ian? Did he hate Ian? 

He would be right to hate Ian, after Ian dropped him like a bad fucking habit when he needed him the most. But the idea of Mickey hating him made him so fucking sad, he couldn't even fathom it. Mickey made him feel so much. A myriad of complex and conflicting emotions. Love and hate, fear and joy, lust and disgust. Anger and elation. Ecstasy and misery. 

And that was bad for Ian. Emotions were triggers. He needed calm. He needed uneventful. He needed quiet stillness. Predictable routine. 

So he buried all that love and passion and other dangerous emotions deep inside. Underneath his job, his family, his day in, day out existence. 

He dated. He met a few guys that were worth seeing more than once. He had Trevor now. They did normal shit. Went to movies, out to dinner. Had 'Netflix and chill' nights. And they fucked. Ian is learning about a different kind of sex, expanding his horizons. It's good. 

Really, it is. 

So, what the fuck is he doing here? Why in god's name did he even answer that phone he found on the ground? Why did he call him and agree to meet? Better yet, why didn't he smash that burner phone into a million fucking pieces the minute he saw it at the bleachers?

Watching Mickey walk away and get into that van, he knew. 

He wasn't done. Not yet. 

Seeing Mickey for those few brief moments at the bleachers had completely and irrevocably fucked Ian up. It was like he was seventeen again. Being that close, feeling Mickey's breath fanning across his face, it had unraveled Ian in a matter of seconds. 

Even their little shoving match, shit, it brought back memories. Memories he'd buried so deep inside himself, he forgot they even existed. 

Fight and fuck. That was their thing, back then. 

He was so close to kissing Mickey right there. He could fucking FEEL his lips, even though they were standing inches apart. 

And then he was gone. Again. 

And Ian was left standing there, breathing heavy, fighting down an erection he shouldn't be fucking having. 

Because he's not supposed to want Mickey. He's not supposed to care, not anymore. 

What a fucking joke. 

Ian lights up a smoke, trying to calm his nerves. Mickey probably won't even show. He is most likely sitting somewhere in the city, watching himself on the news, laughing his ass off over the idea that Ian is waiting for him at the docks like some bitch. 

No. Fuck this. Ian's going to finish this cigarette, and he's going to leave. He shouldn't even have come. He doesn't need this shit in his life. 

If he thinks it enough, maybe he'll believe it. 

He checks the burner again. He tells himself he's just checking the time. He tells himself it's because he's supposed to meet Trevor soon, and he doesn't want to be late. He tells himself that if Mickey does show, he's going to tell him to fuck off, go to fucking Mexico, and stay the fuck gone. 

That's what he needs to do. For his own safety. For his own sanity. 

He's giving himself this mental pep talk when he hears a noise down by the water. He looks up. 

Mickey is coming up the gangway. 

Ian's breath hitches, and his whole body goes numb. 

And just like that, everything he needs to do gets thrown out the fucking window, in favor of what he wants to do.....

 

\----------------------------------------------------

 

Mickey is a bitch for Ian Gallagher. 

He's known this fact for a long ass time, well before he would admit it to Ian or anyone else. 

That is the only explanation for the predicament he's found himself in. 

He didn't think Ian was going to call. When he met him at the bleachers to tell him about his Mexico plans, he expected Ian to laugh in his face. It was, admittedly, a stupid plan. But it was all he had. 

And like anything else Mickey had ever had in his life, he wanted to share it with Ian. 

It's just, he's missed the guy so fucking much. Still loves him just as much as he always has. And the idea of fleeing to Mexico, of leaving Chicago forever, and not seeing Ian first, that horrified Mickey more than spending fifteen fucking years inside. 

The escape had just kind of happened. A series of unrelated events that culminated in Mickey and his cellie breaking out. So, naturally, the first thing he thought of once he was on the other side of the wall was Ian. 

And he was pretty pissed at himself for that. 

He did not need this shit in his life. 

Ian was fucking trouble. Always had been, since the moment he burst into Mickey's life. Always causing problems for Mickey, whether he meant to or not. Mickey has gotten arrested more than once for Ian. Hell, he'd gotten shot more than once for Ian. He got raped, had a kid, and got married because he was mixed up with Ian. He went away for fifteen fucking years for Ian, and got nothing in return for it except a dead green eyed stare and medicated, gay version of a Dear John. 

What the fuck.

You would think Mickey would learn his fucking lesson. 

You think he would learn that good things aren't meant for him. And Ian is good. Too fucking good for Mickey, always has been. 

If Mickey were smart, (which, admittedly, he's not) he'd leave Ian the fuck alone, and just hit the road. He didn't really have a plan for once he got to Mexico, but anything would be better than fucking prison. 

But fuck, it would all be exponentially better with Ian by his side. 

Mickey's not even sure why he asked Ian to come. Moment of weakness, he supposes. He knows Ian will never say yes. Doesn't love him anymore. Maybe never did. Mickey's never heard him say the words. So, yeah, Mickey's a fucking idiot. Putting himself out there, yet again, knowing full well he will most likely get his heart shredded all over again.

But he just can't fucking help himself. He wants Ian. He's always wanted Ian. 

And even though he knows he needs to get out of Chicago, he needs to get on the road, and he needs to forget Ian Gallagher was ever in his life, he can't help the way he feels. He can't help what he wants.

He wants Ian. Just one more time. 

Then he'll shut that door. He'll block off that part of his heart. He'll lock all those memories and those dangerous feelings away in a box deep inside his head, and never ever look at it again. 

That's what he needs to do. 

He makes his way under a small bridge, the ripples of the river lapping against the dock. It's kinda soothing, down by the water. He passes a boat, tied to the dock, running his fingers along the hull as he closes in on the gangway. 

Ian might be up there, or maybe he didn't show. 

Either way, this is the last time Mickey will make an effort for Ian Gallagher. If he's not here, that's it. Mickey's going to Mexico, and he's not fucking looking back. 

He holds his breath as he ascends the gangway. This is it. 

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------

 

Mickey's heart is pounding so hard, he feels like it's going to burst through his chest. He was so sure Ian wasn't going to show. He was so sure he was going to leave heartbroken and unsatisfied. But there he is. 

He fucking came. 

His body moves without his consent. It's like he's being drawn to Ian by a force outside himself. He walks toward him with quick strides, his whole body tingling. 

"Knew you'd come." he says, even though it's not true. 

It's not true at all.

Ian throws his cigarette to the ground and stomps toward him.

"Knew you'd come." Mickey repeats, like he's trying to convince himself. Ian is right fucking there. 

Finally. 

"C'mere." Mickey says, pulling Ian to him with a hand on the back of his head. Their lips meet, and it's like coming home. Mickey know how gay that sounds, even in his own mind, but he doesn't fucking care. Not anymore. 

Ian threads his fingers up under Mickey's hat and into his hair. It's longer than it usually is, and feeling Ian's fingers twisting in it sends a fire ripping through Mickey's gut. 

Mickey opens his mouth wide, wanting to swallow Ian whole. He slips his tongue into his mouth, tasting the inside of Ian's mouth. Fuck, he missed this. He tightens his grip in Ian's neck, pulling him closer. His other hand threads around his waist, like he's afraid Ian's going to pull away.

That's probably because he is. 

Ian wrenches his mouth away from Mickey's like he's been burned. He pushes him away forcefully, hands hard against his chest. 

Mickey's startled. A little hurt. But like fuck he's gonna let that show. 

Ian takes a deep breath. What the fuck? What the fuck is he doing? This was not part of the plan. Not at all.

But seeing Mickey, being so close to Mickey, it still fucks him up. It's like he can't control himself. And that scares him. He's supposed to be in charge of himself now. He can't afford to be a slave to his emotions. 

He needs to stay in control, at all times. And he can't with Mickey. He never could. 

He had a plan of how this was supposed to go down when he got here. Tell Mickey he can't be involved. Promise not to tell anyone he saw him. Wish him luck as he absconds from the law. Leave.

That was the plan. 

And he fucked it all up. 

Mickey's face is hard, though he looks mildly amused by Ian's antics. 

"What the fuck?" he says, looking Ian up and down. Mickey paces a little, back and forth. Like a caged animal. 

But he's not caged, not anymore. He's fucking free. Right here, in front of Ian, like a fucking fever dream. 

Ian feels like he's losing his damn mind. He needs to get back on script. 

"You think my life hasn't moved on since you got locked up, Mickey?" he doesn't know why he says it. But he does. 

Mickey flinches. He hopes Ian didn't see it. Of course. Of course he fucking knows. 

"Nah, I just thought you'd be down for me, since the whole reason I got locked up was for going after the bitch who tried to ruin you." Mickey says. They never talked about that. About why Mickey went away. 

Trying to protect Ian. Trying to avenge Ian. 

Ian never got that. He never understood. Never understood that Mickey would do fucking anything for him. To keep him safe, to keep him happy. 

Ian doesn't get it, and he bypasses the whole comment anyway, like Mickey never said anything. 

"I'm NOT pissing away my life." Ian says. He's not sure if he's telling Mickey that or himself. He's got a good life now. Good job. Good boyfriend. Good family connections. Good friends. Things are good. Normal. Routine. He needs that. He needs all of that. 

But he wants something else. 

That's why he has to say this shit. Out loud. To Mickey, and to himself. He needs to remember. 

"Stop." Mickey says. He's got a ghost of a smile on his face, but his eyes are sad. He's hurt. Ian has hurt him. 

Mickey doesn't want to talk. He wants, no he needs to be close to Ian. He's right fucking there. Mickey is not in control of himself anymore. He's completely driven by his desire. He closes the distance between them again, gently cupping the side of his neck as he kisses him again. 

It feels so good. So fucking right. Better than anything with anyone else has ever felt. 

Ian melts into the kiss. It's like a lock slipping into place. Mickey's tongue is warm and soft inside his mouth. He's kissing Ian more gently that he ever has before. Like he's afraid Ian will shatter. 

Or push him away. Again. 

A wave of heat rushes through Ian's whole body. It's like coming alive. Or waking up from a coma. His fingers are tingling. He's got goosebumps all over his body. It feels like he's vibrating. God, it's so good. He pushes his tongue against Mickey's, groaning at the feeling. He's missed this, so much. 

Then, Ian remembers himself. His plan. What he needs to do. 

He shoves Mickey away. Again. 

"Fuck!" Ian yells, exasperated. With Mickey, but mostly with himself. 

He's losing control.

Mickey stands there, dumbstruck. He expected Ian to be conflicted. If he showed up at all, Mickey was sure he'd be pissed. He figured they'd fuck, and then Ian would leave. No talking. It would be easier that way, for the both of them. Like old times, before Mickey let himself feel shit. Just sex. 

Sure. Okay. 

He's not sure why he didn't see this shit coming. He knows Ian. Even after all this time, even after being away so long, he still knows Ian. He knows Ian is most likely really pissed at himself for even being here. 

But Mickey doesn't give a shit about any of that. He wants to fuck. He wants Ian to fuck him. That's all that matters right now. Quenching that thirst, scratching that itch, easing that ache. Then he can go. 

It's what he needs to do. 

But not until he gets what he wants. 

What he came for. 

He's hard already. Just from those few kisses, and maybe a little bit of the shoving. He likes it when Ian's rough with him, always has. 

He gets harder, just at that thought. 

Ian walks away, just a few steps, but it feels like miles. It feels like a giant chasm has opened between them. 

"I have my shit together, Mickey." Ian says, even though they can both hear his voice falter. "And I have a, a fucking boyfriend." 

He doesn't sound convincing. Hell, he doesn't sound convinced. 

Ian's vibrating again, but not from passion this time. He's pissed. Pissed that two minutes in Mickey's presence can make him question himself. Doubt himself. 

Mickey huffs out a small laugh, his eyebrows creeping up his forehead. He tries to keep his voice level when he answers. Doesn't want to show how much that shit stings. 

Boyfriend. Ian has a boyfriend. Of course he does. 

"Boyfriend." Mickey repeats his thought out loud. His tries to keep his face passive. Can't let on how he feels, not now. 

Ian gives him a little, barely there nod of his head, then shrugs, like he's not sure himself. Like he's embarrassed or ashamed to tell Mickey that he's seeing someone. 

Ian knows he doesn't owe Mickey anything. They broke up that day. The day Mickey went in. They were done, way back then. It makes sense that Ian would move on. 

Then why does Ian feel like he's betraying Mickey when he tells him that? 

"Okay." Mickey says, still desperately hanging onto his 'I don't give a fuck' attitude. He swipes his thumb over his top lip, eyeing Ian critically. "Whatcha doing here then?" he asks, eyebrows raised. Challenging. "Hmm?"  


Ian only stands there for a moment. He waffles back and forth in his head, his thoughts going a million miles a minute. What he wants to do and what he should do. What he needs to do. What he's done, what's been done to him. Mickey. Who he is to Ian. Who he was. Who he'll always be. 

It's stupid, really. If Ian even had a choice to begin with, he made it when he came here tonight. It's useless to fight it. He knows that. 

He stomps across the gravel, desperate to get to Mickey. Their lips crash together as Ian fists Mickey's coat in his fingers and throws it off his shoulders. Mickey makes a small noise in the back of his throat as he grabs Ian's coat and rips it down his arms. It lands on the ground next to Mickey's as they lick into each other's mouths. Hungry. Frantic. 

Mickey bites Ian's bottom lip. Hard. Ian gasps, his hands gripping Mickey's hips hard enough to bruise. Mickey's tongue soothes the mark, and Mickey can taste blood. He growls low in his throat, something primal in him awakening. He wants to leave his marks all over Ian's body. So everyone will know he was there. 

Ian's heart is pounding, like it's going to bust right through his rib cage. He'd be fine with that, dying here, wrapped up in Mickey's arms. 

The thought startles him, but he doesn't let him derail him. He has to stay on track. His original plan may have gone to shit, but he's on a new mission now. 

Mickey's hand slide down his chest before landing on his belt. He fumbles with it, unable to get it open fast enough. "Tell me goodbye." he says. Can't help it. Even consumed in the throws of passion, he has to get that dig in. 

He has to remind Ian of what this is. 

Goodbye.

Ian shoves him. Hard. His back hits a dry-docked boat. He bounces back, dark smile on his face. 

There's his Ian. 

Mickey takes in the fire in Ian's eyes. There's a storm of conflicting emotions churning in those gorgeous green irises. 

"What?" Mickey breathes. He raises his eyebrows. A clear challenge. 

Ian takes the bait. Like he always does. 

He's ripping his shirt over his head before he knows he's doing it. He just needs Mickey. To be inside him. To feel him, flesh on flesh. One more time. He fucking needs it. He feels like he's crawling out of his skin.

He feels completely out of control. 

And that's dangerous for Ian. 

But he can't be bothered to care. Not now. 

Mickey nods his head, a whispered "I knew it." slipping past his lips. He did not in fact, know Ian would give him what he wants. But it feels good to say it anyway. 

His eyes rake up and down Ian's bare chest. He wants to reach out, run his fingers over that body he's missed so much. But he refuses to allow himself that. He's not here for a sentimental reunion. He's here to fuck. He knows Ian won't come with him, so this really is goodbye. Nothing good will come of letting his feelings get in the way of his hard on. 

So he nods his head once more, licking his lips. He give a little appreciative hum. He turns his back to Ian, glad he doesn't have to face him while they fuck. He goes for his fly, his fingers feeling numb and sluggish, even as they work fervently to get his zipper down. 

He can hear the sharp sound of Ian flicking his belt out of his pants, and somehow that makes him even harder. Like his body knows that sound, remembers it. Remembers what's coming next. 

Mickey bites back a moan, not wanting to let on how turned on he is. 

Like Ian doesn't fucking know. 

He'd laugh if he could. This situation is so ridiculous. 

Instead he just pulls his jeans down over his ass, pushing them down to mid-thigh as he goes to brace himself on the boat in front of him. 

Ian surprises him. He takes a step closer, and his hand comes up, gently gliding over Mickey's cheek and into his long hair. 

They both shiver at the affectionate gesture.

Ian can't help himself. He's desperate to bring some intimacy back to this violent, sexually charged moment. He bends over Mickey's body, brushing his lips along his neck, up by his ear, not kissing him, just caressing his skin with his lips. He can taste Mickey on his tongue, and his brain can't make coherent thoughts anymore. 

It's all just MICKEYMICKEYMICKEYMICKEY.

Mickey throws his head to the side, a tiny sigh escaping his lips. He leans forward more, one of his hands shooting behind him to grip Ian's hip, pulling him closer. 

Ian presses his erection into Mickey's clothed ass, grunting into his neck. It feels so good already and they've done barely anything. 

Ian grabs Mickey's wrist from his own hip, bringing it up to rest on the boat, lacing their fingers together. Mickey resists, trying to pull his hand away, but Ian slams their hands down harder, and Mickey grunts, acquiescing. 

Ian slips his free hand around Mickey's waist, cupping his erection. Mickey huffs out a harsh breath, clinging to his last shred of remaining dignity. 

"C'mon, Mick." Ian whispers into his neck. "Lemme hear you." 

"Fuck. Off." Mickey barks. "Just fucking do it. I'm ready already." 

Ian falters, just for a second. Why is Mickey ready already? Did he prep himself in anticipation for this encounter? That would be hot. Or, did he fuck someone else before he came here? That would be considerably less appealing. 

Ian shakes off the possessive thought. That's irrelevant. And if he starts thinking about people Mickey might be fucking, he'll have to think about the guy he's fucking, and that would certainly sour the mood. 

Ian trails his hand from Mickey's cock to his ass, not even replying to Mickey's statement. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of his boxers and pulls them down harshly, shoving them as far down as they'll go. The clothes get all bunched up around Mickey's knees, making it impossible for him to spread his legs anymore. 

"Love this ass." Ian groans, his fingers dancing along the muscle. He grabs a handful, squeezing roughly.

Mickey groans, and Ian's face splits into a feral smile. 

Ian pulls back the smallest amount, just enough to free his hard cock from the confines of his underwear. He's so hard, leaking already, throbbing to get inside that perfect ass. 

"C'mon. Ian." Mickey whines. 

He grimaces at how needy he sounds. How he just uses Ian's name so freely. It feels too soft. Too close to what they used to be. But who the fuck is he kidding? It doesn't matter what Ian thinks, or how he feels about Mickey. Mickey will be gone soon, and none of this shit will be able to hurt him anymore.

Yeah. Okay. 

"Yeah." Ian sighs. "Okay." he needs to get his shit together. He's been dreaming about this exact scenario for years now. He can't let his runaway brain derail this wet dream come to life right in front of him. He doesn't care about anything else in this moment. Just Mickey. Being with Mickey. Being inside Mickey. 

He spits in his hand, rubbing the cooling saliva all over his dick. He spits once more, bringing his fingers up to circle Mickey's hole. 

"I said I was good." Mickey spat, exasperated. He pushes his ass out further, not caring if it makes him look like a bitch in heat. 

What Ian thinks of him doesn't matter anymore. 

"Don't wanna hurt you." Ian mumbles, withdrawing his hand.

Mickey wants to laugh. It's a little late for Ian to worry about hurting Mickey. "Just do it." he says instead. 

Ian nods, nuzzling his face into Mickey's neck again. He clamps one hand down on Mickey's hip, using the other to guide him home. 

Ian's eyes shoot open wide. Holy shit. Did it always feel this good? He pushes in slowly. So fucking slowly, trying to savor this feeling. 

Mickey fits around him so perfectly. Stretches to accommodate him. Welcomes him in. It's unlike anything else, and Ian's not sure what that means. 

"Jesus. Fuck." Mickey groans, pushing his ass back to take Ian the rest of the way. Ian grunts once he's fully seated. Overwhelmed, he needs a moment to collect himself. 

Mickey doesn't want to give him that. "Fucking move." he growls. 

Ian gives a breathless chuckle, but complies. He starts thrusting in earnest. One hand on the boat in front of them, the other pulling Mickey back on his dick with a vice-like grip on his hip. 

"Oh fuck..." Mickey sputters, letting his head hang low as he takes the full force of Ian's assault on his ass. Because that's what it felt like. Like Ian was working through all his personal demons with this fuck. 

Hate fuck.

The phrase pops into Mickey's mind unbidden, and he fights it down. Ian is hate fucking him. 

Oh fucking well. 

He's gonna enjoy it. 

Mickey's body slammed against the boat, his head making a dull noise when it connected with the metal. Ian gave him no room, crowding him against the hull and slamming his hips forward with more force.  
Mickey fought to get up on his elbows, letting his head hang low again. Ian leaned back a bit, the hand that had been resting on the boat sliding up to curl around Mickey's shoulder. 

"C'mon. Give it to me." Mickey laughed breathlessly. "You're getting old." he taunted. 

Ian huffed out a laugh of his own, pulling Mickey off the boat and wrapping his arms around his waist as he rolled his hips. 

That did the trick. 

Mickey went rigid in Ian's arms as the other man grazed his prostate. Ian always knew how to get to that spot. Fucker knew his body better than Mickey did. 

And Mickey kind of hating him for that, in the moment. 

"Fucking harder." he growled, his hand slipping down to wrap around his cock. 

Ian laughed again, biting Mickey's neck hard, earning himself a deliciously pained gasp from the other man. He batted Mickey's hand away before taking his erection into his own hand, working him in time with his thrusts. 

"C'mon Mick." he said into his hair. "You're right there. I can feel it." 

Mickey's head lolled back on Ian's shoulder, his hips thrusting forward into Ian's hand, then back onto his cock. He didn't say anything. He was a little irritated that Ian still knew his body this well. 

It wasn't his anymore. It wasn't fair for him to know these things. 

"Yeah, that's it." Ian said, unable to stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth. He was precariously close to coming, but he wanted Mickey to go first. Mickey always went first, ever since they were kids. Ian always prided himself on that fact. And tonight would be no different.

Mickey said nothing, and it was making Ian nervous. Mickey was always mouthy in bed, and the fact that he's been reduced to two word sentences solidifies the fact that this fuck is unlike any one they've ever had.

It feels colder. More impersonal. 

Ian doesn't like it. 

But he doesn't know what to do about it. 

So he just keeps moving. Just keeps rolling his hips, hitting all of Mickey's secret spots. 

It doesn't take long for Mickey to get there. His head shoots up off Ian's shoulder as he lets out an inhuman gasp, coming all over Ian's hand and the gravel beneath their feet. His ass constricts around Ian's dick so hard, Ian chokes out a surprised noise, his hips stilling. 

"C'mon, man." Mickey mumbles, hips rocking back minutely. Ian shakes his head, finding his rhythm again. He pounds into the other man's sensitive body a few times more before his orgasm hits him like a truck. 

His back bows and his arms around Mickey tighten painfully. He buries his face in Mickey's neck as he fills him up with his release. 

Seconds later, Mickey is pulling away from him. 

Ian is lost for a second. Eyes closed, he sways on the spot, still not quiet back to himself yet. 

"Put your dick away, asshole." Mickey grumbles, as he himself crouches down to pull his pants back up. 

Ian collects himself quickly after that. He tucks himself away and zips his fly. He takes the few steps to grab his shirt and belt off the ground. 

They dress silently, back turned to each other. 

Mickey feels a little sick. Anxiety floods his bloodstream. He got what he wanted. 

And now Ian's going to go. 

That was the plan. That's what needs to happen. 

Mickey doesn't want to look at him. Now that the passionate moment has burst, all that's left is them, and the wreckage of whatever relationship they once had. 

Mickey doesn't want that shit to be his last memory of Ian. So he turns, not really making eye contact. He pulls his cigarettes out of his pocket and lights one, still not looking at Ian. 

"So, what's next?" Ian asks after a moment. 

Mickey laughs. He can't help himself. He takes a puff off the cigarette and passes it to Ian without much thought. It's all automatic, routine. They've done this so many times before. 

Even though this time feels painfully different. Painfully final. 

"Dunno 'bout you, Firecrotch, but I'm gonna get some fucking sleep. Got alotta shit to do tomorrow before I hit the road, y'know?" Mickey tries for nonchalance, but he doesn't know if he hits the mark.

Ian nods like an idiot. He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't want this to end yet. It all went by way too fast. The reality that Mickey will be gone again soon hits him like a ton of bricks, and real, genuine fear overcomes him. 

He has to think quick. 

"Uh, where are you staying?" is all he can think to say. 

God, what a fucking idiot. 

"I'm just gonnna sleep in the van. Don't have anywhere else." Mickey says vaguely. He doesn't want to tell Ian any more about Damon or the house full of Latin Kings, or the shit they do at that house that Mickey wants no fucking part of. Prostitutes and fucking drugs. 

Mickey likes to party just as much as the next guy, but he can't be getting blitzed out of his mind when the entire Chicago police force is out looking for him. So he asked Damon if he could take the van and sleep somewhere on the street. It was still risky, but a different kind of risky.

The gang had agreed, and Mickey had been grateful.

"You mean the van you used to abduct me?" Ian teases, testing the waters.

"It's not my fault your giant ginger ass is such a pussy. I'd have never let those pricks get the drop on me." Mickey laughs, holding his hand out for the cigarette. Ian passes it over with a small smile. 

 

"I went with them, cuz they were gonna take me to you." Ian replies without thinking. It's the truth, and they both know it, but saying it out loud changes something. 

"Like you fucking give a shit." Mickey spits, taking one last drag off the butt before tossing it to the ground. He starts walking through the boat yard fast. Ian has to scramble to keep up with him.

"Mick!" he yells after him, then remembers himself. Mickey is a fucking fugitive, for Christ's sake. 

Mickey turns on the spot, glaring at him, and Ian knows Mickey is thinking the same exact thing.

"Keep your fucking voice down!" Mickey whispers harshly, turning again. He stomps across the boat yard. Ian follows him like a lost puppy. 

"Can I?" he starts, but Mickey whirls around so fast, Ian stops dead in his track.

"Can you what, Gallagher?" 

Mickey's heart is pounding. What is Ian going to say? How is he going to destroy him this time? 

This was a mistake. This was a bad idea. No fucking nut is worth this bullshit...

"Can I stay with you tonight?" Ian asks, voice low, nervous. 

Mickey's shoulders fall. He's so confused. He brings his hand to his hips, tipping his head back. He stares at the sky, where the stars would be if they could see them in the city. The moon is almost full, lights up the whole damn boat yard. 

"Yeah, okay." he says, so quietly. He turns without waiting for an answer, resumes his blistering pace across the yard.

Ian scampers up to him, his long legs making it easy to catch up. 

Mickey doesn't say anything. 

There's nothing to say.

Not now.

 

\--------------------------------------------------

 

The come upon the van after about ten minutes of walking. It's parked in a shitty-not-so-shitty neighborhood right outside the south side. 

Mickey walks up to the van on the passenger side, pulling a key ring from the pocket of his jeans and slipping a key into the lock. He opens the door and jumps inside, quickly moving to the back. Ian hesitates, standing on the street with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. 

Mickey turns on his knees, glaring at Ian. "What?" he spits. "Change your mind? Again?" 

That's what does it. 

Ian rolls his eyes, climbing it alongside Mickey. He slams the door behind him, flicking the lock with his fingers before crawling after Mickey into the back of the van.

The van is full of shit. Tools, paint cans, fast food bags, 40 oz beers (some full, some empty) there is a dirty wool blanket, some clothes balled up next to an unzipped backpack. Ian doesn't know where to sit, so he just sits where he's kneeling. He pulls his long legs around, crossing them in front of him, leaning his back against the side panel. 

"Sorry it's such a shithole. Not a lot of room." Mickey mumbles, pushing the blanket out of the way so he can start taking his shoes off. 

Ian sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Mick, what the fuck is going on?" he asks, unable to keep it in anymore. "Why did you do all this?" 

Mickey pulls his coat off, balling it up and tucking it behind his head as he lays down on the floorboard of the van. He rests his head on the coat, lacing his fingers together on his stomach. He closes his eyes and lets out a long slow breath. 

"An opportunity presented itself, and I took it." he says vaguely. He doesn't elaborate. Ian wants to know more, but Mickey obviously doesn't want to tell him. 

Mickey sees not point in telling the whole long, convoluted story right now. 

"But why?" Ian asks. He strips his jacket and balls it up, like Mickey had. He lays it on the floorboard next to Mickey and lays down. His long legs are a little cramped in the crowded space, so his knees keep knocking into Mickey's thigh. He lays on his side so he can look at Mickey's face. 

Mickey, however, keeps his eyes trained on the ceiling of the van. He can't look at Ian right now, he still feels way too vulnerable. Ian has this way of making him feel split wide open, especially after sex. Mickey's not sure why, but he knows he needs to distance himself from that feeling. 

Why did he even let Ian come with him? That was not part of the plan. It's only going to make saying goodbye that much fucking harder. 

God damn it. 

"Why? Are you fucking serious right now?" Mickey laughs bitterly. He finally turns his head, and Ian is staring right at him. Laying on his side, head propped up in his hand. He's so close, Mickey can feel the heat coming off his body. He wants to curl up in it. That warmth. Ian was always so damn warm. 

He doesn't though, he just stares at him. 

Ian nods, unsure of what to say. "Uh, I mean, you coulda just did your time, yeah? Maybe get parole in a few years...." 

"Oh fuck off. It's so fucking obvious you've never done time." Mickey spat. He turned onto his side, closing the distance between them. For a blissful second, Ian thinks Mickey's going to kiss him. 

He's an idiot, that obviously doesn't happen. "Remember when you were in the loony bin?" he asks instead. 

Ian is taken aback by the question. He doesn't really like to think about that time. A lot of it is fuzzy anyway. But yes, he does remember. 

He nods. 

"You have that helpless, scared feeling? Like you were trapped? Alone?" 

Ian nods again. 

"Imagine feeling like that, every single fucking day, for years on end." Mickey says. He maintains eye contact, difficult as it is to do so. "And you're completely alone. No one visits, no one sends you money. No one gives a shit. It's like you don't exist any more." Mickey takes a deep breath, steadying himself. He's not going to fucking cry. "Tell me, would you take the opportunity to run? If you could?" 

Ian's eyes are stinging. Hearing Mickey say this shit tears him apart. He feels guilt pool in his gut. "Mick, I'm so..." 

"Don't you fucking say you're sorry." Mickey said hotly. "Doesn't matter. Not anymore." 

Ian nods again. He doesn't know what else to do. 

Mickey smiles, scooting a little closer. He reaches a hand up and runs it through Ian's hair. "C'mon, man. We're here, together. We got a little privacy. How about we save the heavy conversation for after you make me come again." he pulls Ian's hair lightly, earning himself a groan. 

"Yeah?" Ian breathes, feeling his body reacting already. Mickey has always had that effect on him. One word from his beautiful mouth, and Ian's hard as a rock. 

"Fuck yeah." Mickey smiles, he pulls Ian's hair again, tipping his head back. He closes the distance between them, pressing his lips to Ian's. 

Ian sighs into the kiss, opening his mouth wider so Mickey can slip his tongue inside. "Love this fucking hair." he whispers against Ian's lips, tugging gently. "Missed this." 

"Yeah." Ian says, though he's not sure what he's agreeing to. He surges forward, wrapping an arm around Mickey's waist, pulling their bodies together. He moans into Mickey's mouth as he feels Mickey hard against his thigh. They rut against each other, making out sloppily. Mickey groans as Ian nips his bottom lip, soothing the bite with his tongue before kissing him again. 

Mickey's about to roll them over so he can get on top when Ian's phone goes off. 

They both freeze. 

The ringing fills the small space, and Mickey goes to pull away. Ian doesn't want him too. He grips him tightly, pulling him against him more. "No. Don't." he says, well aware of how needy he sounds. "Just gimme a sec." he reaches behind himself blindly, groping around for his phone, which he laid on the floor somewhere near the front seat. His fingers wrap around it and he brings the device to his face. 

Trevor. 

Fuck. 

Mickey glances at the screen, can't help it. He's fucking curious. 

Trevor? Must be the boyfriend. 

Well then. 

Mickey started to pull away again, but Ian just gripped him tighter still. "No." he mumbled into his neck. He made a show of shutting the phone off, placing it back down on the floorboard. "I'm here. Forget all that other shit right now." 

Mickey nods, but his mouth is going before he knows what he's doing. 

"Is it serious?" he hears himself ask. 

Fuck. What the fuck is wrong with him? 

Ian, for his part, looks utterly shocked by the question. Completely taken aback. He sputters for a moment, at a loss for how to answer. 

Is it serious? Obviously not, if he's here right now. Ian's not sure what's going on with Trevor. It could get serious, maybe. But something about the relationship didn't quite fit. Ian felt like he was trying too hard to make it work, desperate for a 'normal' adult relationship. 

"Uh, not really." he answers lamely. 

"How long?" Mickey asks. Now that he's started, it feels impossible to stop. He's fucking curious. So the fuck what? 

"Not too long. A few months." Ian replies. Looks like they're doing this. Talking about this. His erection goes down ridiculously fast. He gets that empty, anxious feeling again. 

"Got yourself a normal dude finally? Nine to five job? Saving the world, like you?" Mickey asks. His tone is teasing, but he is serious. Ian's changed a lot. He's not the street rat kid he used to be. He and Mickey probably have nothing in common anymore. 

"Kinda." Ian says. "He works with LGBTQI kids at a shelter downtown." He is staring at the back panel of the truck, can't look at Mickey while they talk about this shit. 

"LGBT-what?" Mickey laughs. "You mean queer kids?" 

Ian laughs too. "Yeah, Mick. Queer kids. He's trans, so...." Ian says. He's not sure why he tells Mickey. It's really none of his business.

"What?" Mickey asks, dumbfounded. "Like a fucking chick??" 

"No, Mick. Not like a chick." Ian sighs. He shouldn't have brought this up. Mickey won't understand. "He was born female, but he identifies as a male."

"But he doesn't have a dick...." Mickey replies slowly. He doesn't know how he feels about this revelation. It doesn't make any sense. Ian likes cock. Ian loves cock. 

"No. He doesn't." Ian replies simply. 

"So..." Mickey says, waffling a little bit. 

"Let's not talk about it anymore." Ian says, rolling on his side to face Mickey fully. "We have better things to do..." he reached across the space, curling his palm around Mickey's hip and pulling him closer. "I fucking missed you." Ian growled, closing the distance between them, pressing their lips together. 

"Fuck." Mickey breathed. "Me too." he sat up, throwing one of his legs over Ian's lap, straddling him. 

Ian laughed, moving his hands up to Mickey's hips, moving his body back and forth over his hardening cock. 

"We both have dicks." Mickey breathed, rocking back and forth slowly, grinding down on Ian's hard cock. "Let's fucking use 'em." 

Ian groaned. What a fucked up thing to say. The groan morphed into a moan as Mickey swirled his hips deliberately. 

Mickey reached behind himself, pulling his shirt over his head. He crawled off Ian's lap quickly so he could shed his pants and boxers. 

Ian sat up, ripping his shirt over his head and going for his belt again. He wriggled out of his pants, hissing when his bare ass came into contact with the cold floor of the van. 

"Here." Mickey said, tossing him the wool blanket as he stripped his boxers with his free hand. Ian grabbed the blanket, tucking it under his ass. Once it was laid out under him, he laid back, watching Mickey with hungry eyes. 

Ian wants him so bad. You would think they hadn't just fucked, with how desperate he was to be inside him again. He wants to make the most of this moment. He needs it to be perfect. 

His eyes catch on Mickey's tattoo.

Ian Galager. 

What a fucking mess. If Mickey's embarrassed by it, it doesn't show. His confidence is intoxicating. Just like everything else about him. 

Once Mickey is naked, he crawls over Ian. A places a hand on either side of his head and dips his face down, kissing him hungrily. Ian lets his hands roam all over Mickey's body. God, it's perfect. He's obviously been working out a lot inside. His thighs are powerful, the muscles more pronounced than ever. His fucking ass is firm, yet soft. His chest, his fucking stomach. Ian's dick is throbbing against his stomach, aching to get back inside Mickey. 

He's never wanted anyone as much as he wants Mickey in this moment. 

"This is better." Mickey says, running his hands up and down Ian's chest. "Wanted you naked since the second I laid eyes on you at the docks." he leans down, running his tongue along Ian's chest, his hands scratching down the planes of his abs. 

Ian moans loud, his back bowing. Mickey feels so good, touching and kissing all over his body, but his words are what really get Ian. Hearing Mickey say out loud how much he wants him has always gotten Ian so hard. 

It feels good, to be wanted by Mickey. 

Mickey licks and sucks his way down Ian's torso, his hand rummaging around in a milk crate next to him blindly. His fingers wrap around a small bottle of lube at the same moment he curls his tongue into the dip of Ian's hip, right next to his dick. 

"Mick." Ian chokes out. "Please..." 

Mickey chuckles against Ian's groin, dropping the lube down on the floor next to his knee. "Please what?" 

"Suck my dick." Ian says, his hand coming up to tangle his fingers in Mickey's hair. 

"Yeah." Mickey says, fingers dancing along Ian's abs, trailing down until they find his leaking cock. "God, I've dreamed about sucking this dick." he mumbles, almost to himself. He wraps his fingers around the base, stroking up and down slowly a few times before dipping his head down and taking the tip in his mouth. He takes him in slowly, letting himself enjoy the weight of Ian on his tongue. 

"Fuck." Ian cries out. "Fucking perfect mouth." 

Mickey smiles around Ian's dick, pride swelling in his chest. He loves making Ian feel good. Getting Ian off gets Mickey so fucking hot. He could probably come just from blowing Ian. 

Not that he wants to test that theory right now. He needs to get that huge cock back inside him. 

He bobs his head, taking Ian a little deeper each time. Ian is a mess, writhing underneath him like this is his first blowjob ever. Mickey sucks hard, swirling his tongue and pulling Ian deeper into his mouth with each pass. His hand gropes blindly for the lube he just dropped. He's got to pull off to find it. He doesn't want to, but he does, letting Ian slip from his mouth. 

Ian's head shoots up. He's a mess. Face flushed, sweat beading in his hairline. "What?" 

"Gotta prep my ass, douchebag. That spit show at the docks was not kosher. I don't wanna be any more sore than I already am." he say, drizzling some lube onto his fingers and reaching behind himself. 

"I could do it." Ian says, his head falling back onto the floor with a thud. "Prep you, I mean." 

"Nah, I'm good." Mickey replies, breaching his hole with two fingers. He works them in and out as he dips his head down to take Ian back into his mouth. 

What he doesn't say is that he is trying to reign his emotions in. Regain some semblance of control over this situation. Keep Ian at arm's length (yeah, okay) And letting Ian prep him like he used to feels like giving himself over a little too much. 

He needs to keep some barrier up between them. It will make it easier when they finally have to part. 

Because they will. They haven't talked about it yet, but Mickey knows. Ian would never come with him. 

So Mickey does what he can to keep it a little impersonal. As impersonal as it can be, with someone's dick in your mouth. 

He preps himself quickly. It's easy, having already fucked once. He lets Ian fall out of his mouth again, his dick hitting his stomach with a wet sound. 

"Gonna ride you." Mickey says. He slips his fingers from himself, wiping the left over lube on Ian's dick. 

"Yeah?" Ian asks, breathless. He fucking loves it when Mickey rides him. He thinks about Mickey riding him when he jerks off sometimes. 

Pathetic? Maybe. But that doesn't matter at the moment. 

He's got the real thing straddling his waist right now. 

"You need more lube?" Ian asks, eyes searching for the bottle. But Mickey just shakes his head. 

"Nah, I'm good. Wanna feel you." he says as he grabs Ian's dick and places it at his entrance. 

Ian hold his breath as Mickey sinks down slowly on him. Mickey is staring at him, head cocked to the side. Ian stares right back, unable to look away. His hands come up to curl around Mickey's hips. 

Once Mickey's fully seated, his head falls back. A small groan slips past his lips. "So fucking full." 

Ian huffs a small laugh, pushing his hips up just slightly, trying to get that smallest bit closer. Deeper. He can't get close enough, and he's buried inside him. 

Mickey moans, hips finally moving. 

He rides Ian hard. Engaging his thick thighs, he bounces on Ian's cock. Ian can't do much but lay there and take it. Which is fine by him. 

God, it feels so good. Ian thought he remembered what fucking Mickey felt like, but his wet dreams and memories have nothing on the real fucking deal. 

"God, Mick." Ian moans, hooking a hand around the back of his head and pulling him down. He curls one hand along his rib cage, cradling his skull in the other. He kisses him hard, pushing his tongue into his mouth harshly. "Fucking ride me so good. Fuck, I missed this." he groans against Mickey's lips as the other man swirls his hips, keeping Ian deep inside him. 

"Me too." Mickey moaned, burying his face in Ian's neck as his ass bounced on his dick. "Fucking missed you." he doesn't want to look at Ian when he says it. He's feeling too vulnerable again. So he draws the focus back to the fucking. He sits up straight, hands on Ian's chest, and slams down on him. He sets a brutal pace, fucking himself harder and faster onto Ian's cock. "C'mon, Ian." he growls. "Make me come." 

He throws his head back as Ian sits up. He steadies himself with one hand on the floor of the van. The other comes up to curl around Mickey's weeping cock. 

"Fuck yeah." Mickey moans, fucking up into Ian's hand, then back down on his dick. 

"That's it, Mick." Ian moans, feeling his orgasm creeping through his blood. He pulls on Mickey's dick faster, eager to watch him come undone. "Come for me." 

Mickey moans loud, stilling his hips as he comes hard all over Ian's hand and stomach. He twitches and shakes through his release, blissful smile on his fucked out face. 

Once he's spent, Ian wraps and arm around his waist and switches their positions. He lays between Mickey's spread legs, pounding into his sore body. 

"C'mon, Ian. Give it to me. I want it." Mickey moans, throwing his head back as Ian fucks him hard. 

Ian's orgasm hits him and his whole body goes taut. He stills on top of Mickey, filling him with his release for the second time in an hour. He collapses on top of him, completely spent. 

Mickey lets him catch his breath for a minute, but soon he's tapping him on the back. "C'mon, fire crotch, can't breath under your giant red ass." 

Ian chuckles, pulling out slowly. Mickey winces anyway. He's gonna feel that shit in the morning for sure. 

The morning. 

Fuck. 

They clean up silently with an old rag Mickey found in that same milk crate. They pull their shirts over their heads. Mickey hands Ian his boxers before laying on his back to slide his back up his thighs and over his ass. 

He lays down on the blanket they just fucked on. It smells like them. Mickey smiles unconsciously, then berates himself mentally for being such a sentimental pussy. He grabs his smokes out of his pants pocket, slipping on between his lips and lighting it. He grabs a 40oz from a paper bag in the front seat, opens it and takes a sip. It's fucking warm, but booze is booze. 

He lays on the blanket, watching Ian looking at his phone. He's turned it back on, and it looks like he's having some serious internal debate as he stares at it. 

 

Ian shakes his head, pretty pissed at himself. What the fuck is Ian doing? He promised himself he wasn't gonna do this shit. It's not fair to Mickey or himself. 

Never mind fucking Trevor. 

Ian is a selfish asshole. He fucked up so bad. He needs to fix this shit. He needs to leave. He needs to apologize to Mickey for leading him on. He needs to tell him this is over, that Ian can't be part of this madness anymore. 

He needs to let go. He needs to move on. 

"Whatcha thinking, Gallagher?" Mickey asks, although his eyes are saying he has a pretty good idea what Ian's thinking. 

Mickey's trying to prepare himself. This is it. This is the good bye he's been dreading. 

He knows it needs to happen. 

But he doesn't want it to. 

"Can I stay with you tonight?" Ian asks instead, surprising Mickey and himself. 

Fuck doing what he needs to. He's going to do what he wants to. 

Just for a little bit longer. 

 

\---------------------------------------------------

 

Ian's laying on his back, Mickey's head resting on his chest. Their shirts are off again. Ian wants to feel all of Mickey's skin he can, while he can. 

They had both had a 40, split a cigarette, and now they were just laying there, enjoying the silent company. 

But Mickey knew Ian, and the silence never lasted with him. 

"Hey, Mick." he says, right on cue. His hand is sliding up and down Mickey's bare shoulder, drawing patterns on his skin with his fingertips. 

"Yeah?" 

"So, like, what's the plan? I mean, if I were to go with you?" 

To say that Mickey is shocked by this question would be a drastic understatement. "Why? You actually thinking about it?" he replies, a little snarky. 

"I don't know." Ian sighs. "Probably not." he admits, feeling guilty. "But if I did, what would we do?" 

"Live on the beach." Mickey replies easily, like he's been there a million times in his mind already. Which, to be fair, he has. Once the plan had formed, he'd spent a lot of time in the prison library, looking at maps and books about Mexico. "But Damon's people are down there. They're going to hook us up with work and shit. Place to stay." 

"You mean the gang?" Ian asks, his fingers tightening protectively around Mickey's shoulder. "How did you get mixed up with the Latin Kings anyway?"

"It's a long story. Damon was my celly. Well, my second one." Mickey doesn't want to talk about that. Doesn't want to talk about prison. He doesn't even want to think about prison. He got out. He's fucking free. 

"So, you did something for them? And they broke you out? Am I on the right track?" Ian presses. Now that they are talking about it, Ian suddenly wants to know everything. 

"Something like that." Mickey replies vaguely. 

"And you're just going to go? What about Mandy?" Ian asks, though he doesn't feel like he has the right to ask. He saw Mandy that one time. With that dead guy. The John. He wonders if Mickey knows about that. He wonders if they talk at all. 

"What about her? She never visited me. Never accepted my calls. Didn't fucking write. I saw her twice in the past two years. She doesn't give a shit." he says. "And I don't blame her." 

"Mick." Ian sighs. 

"Listen." Mickey interrupts. "It is what it is. Once I get situated down there, I plan on calling her. When it's safe. She'll tell Igg. That's all I care about. We aren't close like you fucking Gallaghers. They're not gonna miss me at all." Mickey knows it's a lie, but it's easier to say that shit than to think too much about leaving his family forever. 

"Okay, Mick." Ian replies, sensing the tension between them suddenly. 

"Okay." 

"So, it says on the news you fucked some female guard, and she was in on the escape, but she disappeared. Did that really happen?" Ian doesn't know why he's still digging. Mickey clearly doesn't want to talk about it. But there are so many questions. Nothing makes any damn sense. 

"That's another long ass fucking story, Gallagher. The short answer is yes. And the cops will never find her." 

"Did you guys kill her?" Ian balks, face pale. 

"Oh fuck you. Of course not. Jesus, Ian. Is that what you think of me?" Mickey asked. He tries not to think about the actual murder he participated in to buy his way out of prison. Ian doesn't need to know that shit. 

Not now. If Ian ends up joining him in Mexico, maybe he'll tell him the whole sordid story then. 

"No, of couse not. I'm just confused. I don't understand." 

"There's nothing to understand. I'm out. And I've got a plan. That's all that matters." Mickey wants to shut this shit down. This is not the sexy pillow talk he envisioned when he dreamed of these moments. 

Ian is about to reply when his phone goes off again. 

It's Trevor. Mickey doesn't need to see the screen to know that. He can tell by the way Ian's face falls. 

Ian rejects the call, dropping the phone back down. 

"You just gonna ignore the guy? Harsh." Mickey says, curling closer to Ian. He doesn't know why he says it. He doesn't want to think about Ian's boyfriend. Or the fact that even though Ian is talking like he may come with him, it's more likely that he will stay in Chicago, with this other person. 

"Did you have another boyfriend?" Ian asks, instead of replying to Mickey's comment. "I know some people do that. Jailhouse relationships." 

"Some people do. I didn't." Mickey replies simply. He's running his tattooed fingers through Ian's red, wiry chest hair, listening to his heart beat under his ear. "I mean, I fucked guys. But none of them were anything special. Not like...." but he doesn't finish the thought. 

Not like you. 

Mickey swallows the words, unable to allow that thought out into the ether. 

"There was one guy." Mickey says after a long beat of silence. "It was more than just fucking. We were friends. Are friends." 

"You have a friend?" Ian asked, genuinely surprised. 

"Fuck you." Mickey laughs. "Yes, I have a friend. Wish I coulda told him I was making a break for it. But I'll call him when I get settled. He should be wrapping his bid soon." 

Ian knows he has no right to be jealous. He's the one with the fucking boyfriend. But hearing Mickey talk about this other guy makes his blood boil. 

"You have his phone number?" Ian asks, feeling like an insecure little girl. 

"Yeah." Mickey nods against Ian's chest. "Had to be able to reach him once I got out. I'm pretty sure once he knows what's up, he'll send me some money and shit once I have a place to stay. Help me get on my feet. Kid's a fucking junkie, but his parents are loaded. Kinda feel like an ass, asking for the money, but free is free, and I'm in no position to be picky. He always said if I needed anything, to ask, so...." 

"Was it serious?" Ian asks, feeling anxious and irritated. What the hell is going on with him? He hasn't been jealous like this in a long time. 

No one brings these emotions out of him. Not anymore. 

Of course Mickey would be the exception to the rule. Always has been. 

"No, it wasn't serious." Mickey says, sensing Ian's discomfort. "Nothing can be serious inside, Ian. Not like, relationship-wise. Like I said, we were friends that fucked. What would you have done, if it were you? Stayed celibate the whole time? Jerked off to images of me in your head?" he teased, even though he had done that exact thing countless times. "I mean, come on. It's not like I had someone on the outside waiting for me." he adds on quietly. 

"I get it." Ian sighed. "And I know I have no right to be pissed. We're not together, obviously." 

"And you have a boyfriend. With no dick." Mickey reminds him. 

Ian smacks him on the back of the head. "Cut that trans-phobic shit out." he says tiredly. "His dick is none of your business." 

"Or lack thereof..." Mickey adds on gleefully. 

"Seriously, Mickey." Ian sighs, "stop." 

"Fine, fine." he relents. He pulls Ian closer, feeling sleep calling him. He doesn't want to sleep. He doesn't want to waste a single second with Ian. 

But he needs it. Needs the rest. 

"Guess it doesn't really matter, anyway. You top him." Mickey grimaces, mentally berating himself for keeping this conversation going. 

"Not always." Ian replies, yawning. 

But all of the sudden, Mickey's not so fucking sleepy anymore. He sits up quickly, confusing Ian. 

"What?" Ian asks, reaching for Mickey again. Mickey batted his hand away. Ian sat up, a hurt look on his face. "Mick, what?" 

"You let him top you? With what?" Mickey asked incredulously. Ian has never let Mickey top him. It had not really been an issue. Mickey liked the way they did things. But he'd be lying if he said the thought had never crossed his mind. 

But Ian was a gold star. Or at least he used to be. He had been adamant all through their relationship that he would not, under any circumstances, bottom. It was his hard limit. The one thing in the bedroom that was a a solid 'No.', no questions asked. 

"You know with what..." Ian sighed. He laid back down, covering his blushing face with his forearm. He can't fucking believe they are talking about this right now. He should have kept his stupid fucking mouth shut.  
He'd rather still be talking about Mickey's prison fuck buddy, than this shit with Trevor. 

"Oh, so all of the sudden you got a dildo fetish?" Mickey spat incredulously. "Do you even like dick anymore? Are you still a fag? You fucking bitches now too? Or just fucking weird halfbreeds?"

"Mickey!" Ian screamed, hand flying off his face and smacking Mickey hard across the chest. "What the fuck? Stop." Ian's blood is up now. Mickey has always been crass, and rude. But this shit is beyond all that.  


Ian is definitely not going to tell him about fucking that girl on the train. The less fuel for Mickey's fire the better. He doesn't want to talk about Caleb or the cheating or the confusion that came after. He doesn't want to talk about any of this shit. 

"You're the one who fucks women." Ian spat angrily. 

Mickey turned away, groping around for his cigarettes. When he found them, he put one between his lips and lit it. He took a drag, letting the nicotine calm his temper. 

He kinda lost it there for a minute. 

It's none of his business, Ian's not his. Not anymore. No matter how much he wants it to be true, it's not. 

He needs to remember that shit. 

"Sorry." he says quietly. "Dunno why I said that shit. I'm an asshole." 

"Yeah, you kinda are." Ian laughed, calming slowly. He let himself fall back onto the blanket and put his hand out for the cigarette and Mickey passed it over. "Come back here." Ian said, pulling on Mickey's arm until he laid back down, head back on his chest. "I don't wanna fight. Can we just enjoy this? I missed you so much, Mick. I wanna be here, just me and you, okay?" 

"Yeah, okay." Mickey replied. He tried to push all that other bullshit out of his head. None of it should matter, anyway. Either Ian will come with him, and they'll have their whole lives to work through this shit, or he won't, and it how Mickey feels about any of this shit won't matter anyway.

They laid like that for a long time, just being together. They talked about safer topics. Shared memories that weren't too tragic or depressing. Shooting guns at their abandoned building, or fucking in the freezer at the Kash & Grab. Like the one time they went at it so long, Mickey thought he got frostbite on the tip of his dick. 

"It wasn't funny, you asshole." Mickey laughed, swatting at Ian's chest. "I thought I was gonna jizz icicles." 

Ian laughed even harder at that. He pulled Mickey closer to him with his arms still around his shoulders. 

They fell asleep like that, wrapped up in each other, like nothing else in the world existed. 

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------

 

Mickey was still sleeping. It was late. The clock on the dash said it was 3:15 am. Ian had taken his night time meds. (he always carriers a spare set of dosages, in case of emergencies.) 

He was tired, and he had been sleeping, but had startled awake a few minutes ago, disoriented and unsure where he was for a moment. 

But then he had heard the unmistakable sound of Mickey's unconscious breathing, and Ian had relaxed immediately. 

Suddenly, sleep was the last thing he wanted to do. 

He is now laying in the dark, up on one elbow, running the fingers of his free hand through Mickey's long hair. Ian's never seen it this long, in all the years he's knows him. Mickey's gorgeous, but Ian misses his short hair. 

Ian's still torn about what he should do. He knows, in his head, that going to Mexico with Mickey is a fucking dangerous idea. 

Mickey's a fugitive. He will be running for the rest of his life. Or until he gets caught, and has to go back in for even longer. If Ian's with him when he gets caught, Ian will get arrested too. As an accomplice to his flight.

Not only that, but how will Ian get his meds? How will he treat his Bipolar? How could he have the stability he needs if they can never stop moving? 

Ian knows he can't go. He can't run with Mickey. He needs to stay in Chicago, in his safe, mundane life. 

It's what he needs to do. 

But he's not ready to say good bye just yet. He just got Mickey back, and the way the other man makes him feel is fucking addictive. 

Safe. Loved. Happy. 

So Ian decided in that moment, that even if he can't go with Mickey all the way, maybe he could at least get him to the border. 

The decision is an easy one. As is the decision to not tell Mickey this plan. Mickey would tell him to fuck off if he knew Ian wasn't planning on going all the way. He'd leave and Ian would never see him again. 

Ian knows his time with Mickey is limited now. He wants every second he can get. And he'll get that by following Mickey to the border, and leaving him at the last moment. 

It's a cruel, selfish thing to do, but Ian can't think of any other move. 

He wants Mickey. 

But he needs to stay in Chicago. 

So this is really his only option. 

Mickey makes a small noise in the back of his throat, pushing his ass backwards. Ian smiles, running his fingers down his shoulder and along his side.

They had put their shirts back on, but were both in their boxers, the wool blanket slung over their waists. 

If Ian's going to initiate his farewell tour with Mickey, he may as well start it off with a bang. 

He slides down next to Mickey again, his hands gliding across his skin. He trails his fingers down his arm, under his shirt. He spans his hand across his chest, taking in every dip and curve, every new muscle. 

Mickey hums. "Again?" he laughs sleepily. 

Ian is hit with such a strong sensation of deja vu his head spins. But instead of flipping Mickey over like he did in that long ago memory from another life, he just hums back, slipping his fingers into Mickey's boxers, taking him firmly in his hand. He stroked Mickey's cock, bringing it to life as he rubbed his own growing erection against Mickey's clothed ass. 

"Can't get enough." He finally says. "This perfect fucking ass." he adds, releasing Mickey's dick in favor of cupping said ass in his palm. "Why? You don't wanna?" he teases, nipping at Mickey's earlobe with his teeth.

"'Course I fucking do. Get in me." Mickey grumbles, pushing his ass back again. 

Ian chuckles into his neck. He pulled away for a second, fumbling around in the dark for the lube. 

Mickey pushes his boxers down over his ass, just enough and lays there, waiting. He doesn't want to think about anything but the fucking right now. He doesn't want to think about how the sun will come up soon, and they both will go their separate ways. He doesn't want to think about Mexico, or the cops, or life without Ian again. 

He doesn't want to think at all. 

Ian's back, lube-covered fingers dancing along Mickey's asshole. "You know I don't need no more prep." Mickey huffs, pushing his ass back impatiently.

"I know." Ian laughs. "But I'm not going in dry either, asshole." He slathered the lube all over Mickey's ass and his own erection, wiping his hands on the wool blanket before using that same hand to guide himself inside for the third time that night. 

They'd always fucked like maniacs, but this little marathon session had a tinge of sadness hanging over it that neither of them could fully ignore. Mickey could not delude himself into denying that they were maybe using all this sex as a way to distract themselves from their impending separation. 

Ian pushed and pulled until he was fully seated inside. He just laid there for a moment, spooning Mickey, kissing and licking along his neck and exposed shoulder. "You feel so good." Ian whispered into his neck as he started to slowly roll his hips. Mickey's hand shot up, tangling into Ian's hair, holding his mouth on his neck. "Always feel so fucking good, god." he murmured into his skin. 

"Ian, christ." Mickey sighed, tipping his head to the side so Ian could ravage his neck as much as he wanted to. He didn't give a shit if he was marked head to toe like a horny teenager after this shit was done. He wanted Ian all over him, in him, around him. He just wanted Ian. 

Ian kept the pace slow. His thrusts deliberate. He runs his hand up and down Mickey's side, unable to feel him enough. His body feels perfect under his fingers. His skin tastes delicious on his tongue. His voice is music to his ears. 

God, he's fucked. 

Mickey sighs, his hips working with Ian's. He's missed this so much. Feeling Ian inside him like this. Soft or hard, fast or fucking molasses slow, it was always the best. Every fuck was better than the last, every moment sweeter that the previous one. 

"Yeah, Mick. Fucking love you like this. Fucking putty in my hands." Ian groaned, hips moving with more purpose. He slid his hand up Mickey's chest, rubbing his hands along his pecs, squeezing a nipple between his finger and thumb. 

Mickey's back arched, pushing into the sensation. Ian chuckled, so fucking happy he still knew Mickey's body so well. He never wanted to forget. Even if this is the last time they ever fuck, Ian never wants to forget Mickey's body, or how it responded to his. 

"Ian, fuck. Right there." Mickey moaned, finally reaching down to jerk himself off. He pulled on his cock as Ian's thrusts became erratic. He was close, Mickey could tell. "C'mon, Ian. Fucking fill me up." 

Ian moaned, biting down on Mickey's shoulder hard as he came inside him once more. Mickey sighed, loving that feeling. He jerked his dick twice more before coming hard, spilling all over his hand and the nasty wool blanket. 

Ian pulled out and Mickey sighed, feeling empty already. He grabbed some paper napkins from the floor of the van, cleaning up his hand and stomach the best he could before crumpling them up and tossing them toward the back of the van. He pulled his boxers back up over his sore ass, turning on his side, one arm bent under his head. 

"Let's try and get some more sleep before the sun comes up." Ian said, laying back down and pulling Mickey to him with an arm around his waist. 

They laid their in the dark as their heartbeats slowed and their breathing returned to normal. Ian cuddled impossibly closer to Mickey, slinging one of his legs over his hip. Their naked legs tangling together. 

It would have felt so right to say 'I love you' right then. It would have felt like the most natural thing in the fucking world. 

And it was true. 

But like fuck Mickey was gonna say that shit now. 

Instead, he just listened to Ian's breathing even out more and more until he knew for sure he was out cold. 

He knew he needed to let Ian go. He needed to let him have his good, normal, white bread gay america fantasy life without him fucking it all up. 

But he just wanted a few more moments. A few more memories to hold onto when he was left alone again. 

He just wanted. Fuck what he needed. 

 

\-------------------------------------------------------

 

Ian's startles awake hours later. The sun is out, and the van is much warmer than it was the night before. 

Fuck. He has to work. 

And just like that, this little bubble Ian and Mickey had created for themselves bursts, and reality suffocates him. 

Shit. What is he doing? 

He leans in, nuzzling his nose into Mickey's neck, inhaling deeply. Fuck, he smells amazing. 

But Ian can't afford to get sucked back down the rabbit hole right now. He needs to get going. 

He doesn't want to leave. 

But he needs to. 

Ian gently extricates himself from Mickey, sitting up and reaching for his phone. 

He dials Trevor's number, watching Mickey sleeping. 

He feels guilty for calling his boyfriend while he's with Mickey. Like he's betraying them both.

He feels like a pretty big asshole in the moment. 

Trevor doesn't pick up anyway. Ian leaves a message. Tacking on the quietest 'I miss you.' he can at the end, hoping Mickey is still sleeping. 

Mickey is not sleeping. He heard the whole fucking thing. He lays there, listening to Ian tell this fucking asshole that he misses him, and his gut clenches. 

Ian will not come with him. 

He's gonna stay here, with his super hero dickless faggot boyfriend and live the Big Gay American Dream. 

Fuck this. 

Mickey's so lost in his inner turmoil that he doesn't realize Ian is so close. He shakes him to wake him up, and Mickey jumps a fucking mile. Ian doesn't notice he was awake, since Mickey always freaks out when someone wakes him suddenly. 

Mickey groans, flipping over onto his back. His eyes blink open and he sees that Ian is already dressed, shoes on and everything. 

"Gotta go." Ian says, all chipper, the fucking prick. "Back to work and shit." 

Mickey closes his eyes, hand on his chest, trying to keep his god damn composure. Fuck, he needs to calm the fuck down. 

He feels like he could cry. 

Ian stands, and Mickey can hear him fastening his belt. 

Shit, this is it. This is really it. 

"Am I gonna see you again?" he asks, because he can't let Ian leave without at least knowing that much. 

Ian stills, one hand on the door handle. He wants to answer him. He wants to be honest with Mickey. He deserves that much. 

But he's still not sure. Any idea or decision he thought he'd come to feels unsure and confusing in the harsh light of day. 

He's torn between what he should do, and what he desires to do. What he needs and what he wants. 

So he just grabs up a lose cigarette from the floor and crouches over Mickey's prone form. He takes his face in his hands and closes the distance between them. 

His lips are fucking perfect. Their mouths fit together so well. His tongue glides along Ian's as he desperately deepens the kiss. His hands fly up, curling one in Ian's hair and gripping his back muscle in the other. 

He's holding on for dear life, but Ian pulls away regardless. Ian places the unlit cigarette between his lips and turns without another word. 

Mickey's left alone in the van. He's covered in hickies and his ass is so fucking sore, but he feels better than he has in a long fucking time. 

He needed this. He wanted it. 

And even if he never sees Ian ever again, he's happy he got this one last shared moment. 

He may not be good for Ian. Maybe everyone was right all along. Maybe he is just a fucked up, criminal, low life piece of south side trash. Maybe that's all he'll ever be. But Ian chose him, once upon a time. And even if he didn't chose him ever again, that one simple fact gave Mickey hope that he could maybe, one day, be the person Ian saw when he looked at him. 

Mickey wants Ian, but he also wants Ian safe, and happy. If he can't be those things with Mickey, then Mickey needs to let him go. 

He's torn. Between his wants and his needs.

But, honestly, it's out of his hands now. The ball's in Ian's court. 

Mickey lights the smoke still dangling from his lips. He's got to get going too. 

He's got a lot to do before he leaves Chicago for good. 

He's trying not to get his hopes up, that Ian will come with him.

But with Ian, it's hard not to hope. 

The kid has always made Mickey want and need and hope....

Mickey's only now starting to feel like that might not be such a bad thing, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> just a little whatever to pass the time....
> 
> the prompt did say 'they fucked all night...' so, i hope i fulfilled that request....


End file.
